First Night Musings

Looking out from my hotel room at the Tel Aviv Crown Plaza. I'm amazed at the distance my family and I have travelled in the past 48 hours (it really may have been only 24 hours but with the jet lag and israeli beer, the hours are starting to blur together).

In the song Rak Po sung by the Israeli hip-hop group Hadag Nahash there are lyrics about Israelis trying to live a life that is split between the world and the village (you can find the song, complete with translated lyrics on YouTube).  The merging of the two was evident from the moment we entered the international terminal at JFK. The first reaction one has as you approach the El Al counter is - where did all these Jews come from?  While physical accessories such as kippot and Tzitzit are noticeable just from the physical appearance and can highlight distance as much as kinship, there I something heartwarming to find out that you will be sharing your flight with the Rosh Edah (division leader) from your children's division at Camp Ramah and makes you realize why this trip will not be like all other trips.

It has been 31 years since my last visit to Israel and one memory from that excursion stands out - that of a shachreit minyan taking place as dawn breaks over the horizon. At age 13 I wasn't familiar enough to take part in the davening. But age and experience has given me the tools to now take my place in the prayer quorum. However life isn't as neat as rose colored memories. Instead of a window view of the majesty of a sunrise at 30,000 feet I found myself crammed in between the galley and the rest rooms as the flashlight app on my iPhone became the ner-Tamid for our 'pick-up' minyan.

While I could try to wax poetic about how Israel has grown and developed over the past three decades it was the people that made the most impact. As Great Neck residents we joke about how we live in a ghetto. But that reality pales in comparison from the moment you land in Ben Gurion airport. Hebrew is the lingua Franca. Not just in signs and announcements, but abbas and imas shouting at their yeladim and mishpocha greeting each other with hugs. Cab drivers, bus drivers and even the local bar tenders are all members of the tribe. Ten steps out onto the beach and you hear shouting and trash talking all done in Ivrit on the beach volleyball courts. And when you watch with one eye as local teenage boys attempt to make passes at the local teenage girls, one thinks the thought, "hmmm I wonder if there's a good shidduch to be made?" The reality is, that as sung in Rak Po, Israel is 'The Jewish Village' writ large.

-- Harold Citron